A Mutant Called Wanda
by DonJuan'73
Summary: Wanda Maximoff visits Professor Xavier in 1982, hoping to clarify her father's past and her own future before she makes any rash decisions about what side to pick.
1. Chapter 1

**I'm just checking the water. May write more, may not. I want to see what you think.**

* * *

><p>It took two tries to open the door. She looked around hoping that no one was waiting behind it. She didn't like going to new places. That anxiety would come and her icy, glacier exterior would slip with momentary embarrassment.<br>Coming to Xavier was quite a step, especially for someone who confined herself in solitude for most of her teenage years. She had went from self-imprisonment to flying the nest in a space of a few months years ago. She never did do things in halves. Always one extreme or the other.

She pushed the stupidly heavy door and felt a gush of wind come in after her, probably frizzing up her thick wavy hair that relied on hairspray to keep it's defined shape. The blue eyes darted as she looked around wearily and pulled down her skirt a little. She usually took pride in expensive sexy clothes and her appearance but this place felt like a church. At least she was wearing a bra for once, right?

She wondered now if she _really _needed answers to her questions. She could just wash her hands off the whole thing, couldn't she? It was the_ eighties_ after all. It shouldn't matter who her parentage is. She was Wanda. Even her surname was just for paperwork. Her mother's complicated past was...colourful and still enigmatic to say the least. But, still, this time she wanted the real truth from an unbiased outside source.  
>She wasn't sure if her brother Peter didn't care or didn't want to know, but he expressed no interest in coming. He was too busy living the high-life, using his mutation to not only live but thrive amongst <em>normal <em>people. He was one of the few.  
>Wanda herself didn't really work, didn't have to. Things came to her. When she wanted something they usually had a way of getting to her. And that lead to the other reason she was here...<p>

"Are you looking for someone?"  
>She looked around to see some red-head look up at her. She tipped her chin upwards slightly, eyes looking down with cool detachment, sure that whatever this kid would say would be a waste of her time. "Yes. Professor Xavier." There was something about this girl that she instantly disliked. Peter would probably call it "bad vibes". She could feel it in the air between them.<br>"He's probably somewhere..." the girl smiled unhelpfully, taking a furtive cynical glance at Wanda's outfit, like the kid was some freaking fashion critic. Wanda could feel her hackles rising as their eyes locked in a silent staring match. She really did hate kids who were far too big for their boots.

"Wanda."  
>Both looked up as a bodiless voice interrupted their tense greeting, snapping them out of it. Wanda heard directions in her mind, dazed and a little freaked out. It was a little like your voice of conscience suddenly started speaking like a Englishman.<br>She blinked a little as she forgot all about the rude girl and walked cautiously in the direction she was told. All was quiet as her boots knocked on the wooden steps a little too loudly. She shrugged as she adjusted her leather jacket, thinking as she tread. Any mutant she had heard of could describe their powers in a few sentences. Super-speed, controls electricity, has a tail, disappears, reads minds...even weird claws.

Her hand hovered over the door handle.

_But mine? _She thought about it as she swallowed and looked up at the Spring light streaming in through large old windows.

She just had no idea. It was vague but powerful. Fantasy-like yet hyper-real. She wasn't sure if it was normal even by mutant standards.


	2. Chapter 2

She stood there, determined to not dither on the threshold or look awkward. She watched the silhouette sitting at the window, bathed in pale sunlight that streamed in through the panes of glass and settled on mahogany furniture that typically belonged in the average Professor's study.  
>She gritted her teeth as the figure was just sitting there, not saying anything.<br>After a beat the same voice finally said something. "Go ahead. Take a seat."  
>She took in a breath as she watched him wearily, feeling like she was about to have some sort of dumb therapy session. If this is what the Professor thought she was here for then he was greatly misinformed. She didn't need help. She wasn't going to sit on some couch and come to terms with emotions and "come out" and be put in some sub-human category. No way.<br>She watched the Professor as she sat down and thought about bolting immediately. Was it too late?  
>He finally turned, or rather, wheeled around to see her. He was middle-aged and smiling like he understood everything that was happening, it annoyed her almost.<br>"I understand you came here to talk."  
>She put her hands on her legs, drumming her fingers while looking at them before composing herself, trying to look like the twenty-something adult that she was meant to be instead of some awkward looking adolescent. "Yes. I..." She desperately searched for something to say, racking her brain for just one of the thousands of questions that have floated around in her head for the past number of months. She spent a few more dire seconds before gritting her teeth and swallowing the last of her pride.<br>Professor Xavier changed the subject, coaxing her into conversation. "How is your brother?"  
>"He's..." She thought about him in his huge office, spinning in his ridiculous modern art chair thing while smiling at his newest Chanel-wearing secretary with his trademark stupid grey suit and new haircut, "Good. Living in New York I think. But he travels a lot. He's a hard guy to pin down." She watched the Professor watch and nod, like he cared about what she was saying.<br>A smile pulled at his mouth. "Of course I'm interested, Wanda." He tried to put her at ease as her blue-green eyes widened a little. "You're ability is what you're concerned about and what you are going to ask me about today- -although I know that there is something else. And you and I both know it's the thing that you've thought about just as much as you walked up the steps into this building."  
>Wanda tried to talk, made no noise, then cleared her throat. "Yes, my...mutation. I'm not sure if it's real. Or if I'm-"<br>"Crazy?"  
>She fixed her gaze on her lap as he said it, feeling partly confused and awkward. Wishing she never came. It was getting to her already. "It's just that it comes and goes...it's not always there...And when something does happen I don't even know what I'm doing..." She focused on the branches swaying outside in the wind instead of looking him in the eye. "I guess I still wonder if what I have even counts as a mutation."<br>"Firstly," the voice of reason calmed the inner storm as she spoke, "it's not a competition. There is no right way to be a mutant. The fact we even exist is still disputed by many. You've seen the posters I'm sure." He watched her nod and continued. "From what I've seen, your abilities are triggered by emotions. Like anger."  
>"Okay, I guess you're right. But am I<em> dangerous?<em>" She was getting to the heart of her problem already. She had said it. Memories surfaced in her mind.

_At the kitchen door Wanda crouched frozen and wide eyed. Her mother was against the wall, one hand ready to block a blow, the other on her large bump. Her teeth were barred as she looked up with hatred through the dyed-brown hair that had fallen out of place as she moved quickly into a crouch to protect her stomach. Bob's__ muscular arm was pulled back and ready to aim. His red hair glowed under the bright kitchen light. Wanda could hear herself let out a __yell, heart breaking as she watched her world fall apart. Wanda slowly outstretched her hand feeling the heat of hatred build up into an inferno of fire within her heart. __Bob aimed his fist and her mom reached up, prepared to block it with a thin arm, eyes suddenly dangerous. But Mom was really only looking after the baby. Rage, fear and desperation made her head spin as she immediately pulled back the door and watched Bob swing his arm down in a pummel. She wanted him to stop, to die. The fire within her suddenly escaped like there was no more room in her small body to hold it.  
><em>_Wanda had her arm outstretched, feeling electricity through her veins as she saw nothing but fire consume the object of her hatred, protecting her mother and future sibling.  
>It was Thanksgiving, 1966.<em>

She blinked, suddenly in the room again. Almost two decades later. She wondered if the Professor had seen it. "Well?" She watched him, slightly alarmed at the thoughtfully stunned look on his face. That could only be a bad sign. He had seen worse hadn't he? Was he going to kick her out, worried she would set everything on fire? She thought about leaving yet again.  
>"No. Stay." The Professor reached up to his temple out of habit. "I wasn't expecting this..." A worried expression flitted behind his eyes, "Has Erik tried to find you?" <p>


	3. Chapter 3

The latest Rolling Stones record was playing and a collection of feminist poems were balanced on her lap. The only thing that could've made Wanda any more hip would be a French cigarette smouldering in her hand. But Mom would kill her if she did that.  
>It was early summer. Wanda was sixteen.<p>

Wanda Maximoff looked out the window, from this angle she could see only the sky and that was quite nice. She didn't leave the house. It was too dangerous. She panicked when she was in a room full of people and the thought of being forced out of the house made her skin crawl and breath speed. Basically she was a hermit, bookworm weirdo with far too much time on her hands.

"Hey."  
>Her eyes widened slightly. Her hair rippled in the gust of air he had created. He was standing there as if he had been in the same spot for an hour, waiting for her to finally notice him. She told him to get out, adding a few choice words before turning a page.<br>"Wow. I should totally tell Mom what a fine daughter she's raised."  
>"Get the hell out <em>doofus<em>." She started to really stare down on him, waiting for the room to begin to distort slightly around them, shadows lengthening around her bedroom and the floor started to tip.  
>"Jeez. Take a chill-pill for once! I've come here to..." He flinched as he felt the effects of Wanda messing with his mind. It got him every time. It just seemed so real. "Stop it Wanda! I need your help!"<br>"Uh, no." Her annoyance subsided and the shadows that filled the room left and returned to normal.  
>"Okay. Hear me out. Summer is coming, right? And we will have nothing to do..."<br>"Speak for yourself." She interrupted.  
>Excitement played on his face as his overgrown hair flopped over a brown eye. "So, because<em>you <em>don't leave the house and I don't want to waste our mom's hard-earned quarters..." She knew something was coming. "I want an arcade machine. Pong."  
>"You're an idiot, you know that, right? And what about that stupid ping pong table downstairs? You already play yourself!"<br>"-And plus, the guy who owns the arcade is super mean and puts up signs warning those with "the disease" to keep out. He deserves it. We're doing good. We're helping_ karma_."  
>In the corner of her room a small lava lamp glowed and she watched the blobs move up and down, ignoring him in his enthusiastic state. It didn't take long until he got bored and moved on. Usually.<br>"I'm fine here. Go away. Get arrested. Go rot in jail for all I care you thief."  
>"Don't have a cow, Wanda." He adjusted those stupid-ass goggles on his head. "If you're there you could convince him he had no machine to begin with. Do that mind thing you do. He wouldn't even call the cops or nothing. So brush your hair, get your coat, put on your shoes and..."<br>"Peter. I am not leaving this _house!_"

* * *

><p>"I hate you so much. It should be illegal since I'm so close to murder right now." She took in a breath, uncomfortable about being out. She wanted to find a hole, crawl in it and be alone for the rest of her life.<br>Peter was wearing dark sunglasses, she was wearing a cap over her red-brown hair. She plucked up the courage and began to walk towards the doors of the store. Her red corduroy legs made a rubbing sound as she pushed through into the store. Peter had literally taken her out of the house. Like a bag of garbage he had lifted her out and set her on the sidewalk. She had no choice in the matter.

The Maximoff's were infamous in the neighbourhood and everyone watched them with intense interest. It was as if they were a real-life television show. Like the Brady Bunch on LSD. Now Wanda was in she could hear people stop what they were doing as she flipped her hair and walked purposefully in the direction of the fashion magazines, picking up a Cosmopolitan and immediately reading the lines '_Are you sexually mature? 11 ways he can tell!'_ before going over to the counter, feeling her hands sweating through the magazine pages already.  
>She fumbled for some dollar bills as Peter came in, walking as casually as one could with grey hair at fifteen before lingering at the confectionery aisle. This was the signal to do the thing.<p>

She took a deep breath.

* * *

><p><strong>Yeah, happy holidays, peace out.<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

Xavier had said it. His name. Wanda had tried not to flinch at the sound of it. Also, the Professor had mentioned it so casually. Like Erik_—_Magneto_—_wasn't some scary middle-aged man who hated the world, bar his little group of selected special mutants. And it also bothered her that Xavier looked at her for far too long, like he was finding something in her face, studying it like a map. It also bothered her that when he mentioned Magneto there was no loathing or even tightness in his voice. She also didn't like the thought of trusting someone who might be buddies with a complete nut like_ him_.

He was the person she had hated long before she even knew his name. She hated the father that she never knew with all of the stubbornness of a three-year-old, carrying it around for just over two decades and letting the hatred fester. The only thing that had changed over the years was that she just got more articulate when she mumbled to herself now and then. Cursing the person who cursed her, with the mutation that made her fear the world and herself.

The anger abruptly changed to shock as realized the glass she had been absent-mindedly staring at was now quivering, threatening to spill as the water bounced around like it was boiling. Although_ really_, it wasn't. She and Xavier_ saw_ it. But it wasn't _real_. It was simply an illusion that they both saw. She could tip the glass over and water would spill and soak into the carpet. But she'd snap out of it. And the illusion would fade. The glass was actually untouched.  
>The understanding Professor sat there, understanding, knowing. Tears welled up behind her eyes. Kindness always got her tearing. She couldn't stand it. She managed a shaky smile, then dropped it. "Peter is lucky," She blinked her eyes that were becoming sore and heavy, "His emotions don't affect his abilities."<br>"That depends on how you look at it."  
>"Hmm?" She squinted as she was rather hoping he wasn't going to do the whole 'look on the bright side' routine. Because she didn't have time for that today.<br>"From my experience, those with mutations like yours_—_controlled by emotion_—_usually have untapped potential."  
>"Like, an oil field?" She was being facetious, but she didn't care. He wasn't making sense. And she was nearly on the verge of tears.<br>He continued, ignoring her cynical mutterings. "And that's why I asked if Erik knows about it."  
>"Why, what would he do?"<br>The Professor looked away, as if he knew. He just didn't want to tell her, didn't want to think too much about it.

* * *

><p>Peter and Wanda didn't look at each other as he entered the store, pushing the squeaky door behind him, sneakers squeaking conspicuously on the linoleum floor. She stood behind some plump middle-aged woman digging deep for coupons and bills, eyes nervously darting around as another person queues behind her before remembering something, muttering to themselves. Some guy dressed like a trucker with a beard is close behind her. Too close. She hears the noisy exhale almost whistle through his beard. The scratch of fingernails skid over flesh. She tensed up, like a statue. She hated being close to strangers. She looked over again, shooting daggers into Peter's back as he loitered around the corner behind the candy bars, surveying three kids their age playing Pong. The teens quickly looked over their shoulders, emotions flitting over their faces. While Wanda attracted general emotions of dislike from people—with her snarly attitude that covered for her fear of people—Peter just confused everyone. He really did. First it was how he looked. The silver hair was sort of cool if you were into the whole punk thing but for the usual passer-by it was very abnormal. Some were simply scared of him, like his eccentric manner was something that was contagious. He was weird enough to be bullied mercilessly but there was something that made people fear to approach him and that was what Wanda envied about him.<br>"Hey. Next."  
>Wanda turned, facing the guy behind the counter. He was in his thirties but nature had dealt him the blow of a bald shiny head and thick glasses. His glare behind them were coloured with discontent. She almost threw the glossy magazine on the counter. She knew that their plan was capsizing and it was time to jump overboard and abandon ship. Peter would have to fill up his summer some other way. A cough that sounded phelmy interrupted her inner thoughts. "What age are you? "<br>She looked at the clock behind him. Heart racing and feeling sick but a smile said otherwise. "Eighteen, why?"  
>"A girl like you shouldn't be reading this filth. You'll grow up to be a streetwalker. Or somthin' worse. And get the disease."<br>She scrutinized him as she waited for a few seconds to reply, feeling what felt like static start to build up on her skin. "Really?" Her bottom row of pearly sharp teeth were visible as her cold green-blue eyes settled on a stain on his bowling shirt. She lingered on his weaknesses, flaws, unfortunate features until she no longer feared but pitied him. Her dark side was settling over her and she wanted it to. Just so she could feel strong and powerful for once. "Tell me more..."  
>The man looked at her, almost blushing like an idiot. "The disease. Abnormalities. It's fatal. Contagious." He mumbled the last bit with far less conviction.<br>She knew what he was talking about. People who were _abnormal_. They said disease was catching. You didn't know who had it. People weren't sure how it spread or what it really was. Did you just have to touch them? Sleep with them? Be in the same room with them? No one knew if it was even real. There was no proof. Some cover-ups, some hoaxes too.  
>"Oh." She passed the dollars across the counter, touching the bills with only a few fingers. The guy at the counter hit the cash button with force, watching her like she was about to whip a revolver from her underwear. She didn't wear a bra of course, she was a modern woman. It would have to be her knickers.<br>The lights began to flicker around them as she stared at the till, watching the little numbers flick up and down like crazy, the radio behind that had been almost silently been playing British pop songs began to crackle. The man behind her coughed again, looking up and swearing quietly.  
>The guy with the dollars still in hand had shrunk with a kind of nonchalant fear, not entirely sure if it was a false alarm, a dream, or an impossible earthquake.<br>Wanda smiled as the kids around the machine stood glued to the spot, seeing what the sales guy was edging to the exit out the staff door. Wanda tipped over a tower of Twinkies, letting the boxes smack on the floor as the trio screamed a little in horror as Peter was up against the wall, looking at his watch like nothing was happening before looking at them with raised expectant eyebrows. The plastic foam tiles of the ceiling fell in a cloud of dust and they bolted as the ground started to tip like they were on a boat on rough water. She was starting to enjoy herself as she started to sweep nearby aisles to litter the floor, smash jars and eggs and plunge the shop into darkness.  
><em>I don't have a disease.<em> She thought, laughing at the five ordinary people affected by her anarchic illusions. _I'm just better than you.  
><em>With that she started to feel laughter bubbling up inside her and started to pull down wood and plaster, tears building up. She wanted to destroy ordinary things. She didn't want to feel inhuman any more. The high-schoolers were screaming in terror. The doors of the shop where tight shut. She reached out, tipping more shelves, feeling the beginnings of fire through her veins.

"Wanda!"  
>She felt hands grab her shoulders, they dodged the invisible sparks that radiated off her. He would see them, he was faster than electricity. She didn't care what he wanted now. This was his fault.<br>"Come on! We have to go! Get it back to normal!"  
>She reached out at the soda cans rolling around the floor, bursting all of them so that a fountain of sticky liquid bubbles, hissed and spread, soaking the floor and splattering the walls and unfortunates who were in the shop.<br>Peter, now wiping orange pop out of his eyes lounged for her, not bothering with super-speed because if he did that, he would kill her. She managed not to fall on her back as they scuffled in the fizzy liquid.  
>The five normals suddenly started to fear the twins who were bickering far more than the paranormal events.<br>"Let..." She kicked out, throwing some bad luck his way, making him slip. "...me go!"  
>As she tried to get up, already weakened and focused on maintaining the altered reality, holding it together.<br>Until real reality was outside in the form of a police vehicle, pulling up outside. Consequences hit her like a truck.  
>"Not again..." Peter muttered, putting on his goggles, ready to do some serious escape work as he stood up, dripping and stained.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Well, that's that for tonight...If you are bored and haven't read it, give my "A Tattooed Stranger" a go. It's basically a story that fits into this one, following Peter and Wanda's mother Magda. Why not?<br>****Thanks for reading if you are! Your feedback makes writing random blab worth it! :)**


End file.
